


If This Be Magic

by Captain_Emily



Series: If This Be Magic [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-20
Updated: 2011-03-20
Packaged: 2017-10-17 03:54:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/172632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Emily/pseuds/Captain_Emily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's amazing what you can discover about yourself in a life-or-death situation, as Tim Drake is about to learn firsthand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If This Be Magic

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I do not own DC Comics or the Harry Potter series.

Pain ripped through Tim Drake’s head as he struggled for consciousness, but the darkness was reluctant to relinquish its grip.  His temples throbbed in time with the blaring klaxons.  Though he was vaguely aware of a soft female voice, her words were lost among the sirens.

He managed to open his eyes, but the flashing red lights sent a surge of nausea through him and he quickly closed them once again, rolling onto his side. Vomiting all over himself would not help matters right now.  He groaned, clutching his stomach.

“Robin!  Get up!”  Batman’s voice cut through the chaos and Tim clutched it like a lifeline, allowing it to pull him toward wakefulness.

“Batman?” he rasped, swallowing down the taste of bile.

“Robin!  Listen to me--I need you to get up _now_.  You’ve got to get out of here."

Tim rolled over, pushing himself up onto his hands and knees.  His arms wobbled and he collapsed forward, head bouncing painfully off of something hard.  Tim eyed the cracked hunk of concrete balefully.  

“TIM!  GET UP!”

Secret identities were strictly forbidden while in costume, so the sound of his own name helped clear some of the remaining fog from his mind.  With a deep, steadying breath, Tim pushed himself onto his knees, somehow managing to remain upright. 

“You need to run, _now_.”

Tim rolled his shoulders and tried to find Batman through cracked and dusty Starlite lenses.  He spotted the man about 10 yards to his right, seated by a pile of debris.  “Batman?  What--?”

He was interrupted by the return of the feminine voice.  “ _Facility self destruct in three minutes_.”

Letting adrenaline and years of training take over, Tim staggered to his feet.  He remembered now— they’d infiltrated one of Ra’s al Ghul’s abandoned hideouts, searching for intel.  The facility went deep underground, far enough that their comm units had lost the satellite signal.  The laughing voice of Ra’s came over the speakers, springing the trap.  There was an explosion, then darkness. 

Tim stumbled through the rubble to his mentor’s side.  The boy reached down, grabbing the older man’s arm in an attempt to help him up.  “I’m okay now.  If you’re injured you can lean on me.  Let’s get out of here.”

“Robin—“

Tim pulled harder, drawing a pained hiss from Batman.

“TIM, STOP!”

There was desperation in the man’s voice and Tim dropped his arm in surprise. 

“You don’t have much time left.  Go.  Now.  That’s an order.”

Tim tried to look at Batman, but shattered and dirty lenses blurred his vision.  Not caring about the spirit gum on his skin, the boy peeled off his mask.  It was then that he got his first clear picture of the situation.  He shivered as a chill washed through his body, like someone had replaced his spinal fluid with ice water.  Bruce was seated on the floor of the long hallway near a pile of rubble.  A section of roof had collapsed in the explosion and his legs were pinned beneath a large chunk of concrete.  Given the size of the debris and the rapidly spreading puddle of blood, Tim knew that even if he managed to get him free, Bruce’s legs would be utterly pulverized.  Tim would have to carry him through the half-mile of underground tunnel to the surface. 

 _“Facility self-destruct in two minutes.”_

With the cowl removed, he could see in the man’s eyes that Bruce had already made his decision--had already accepted his fate.  Tim’s own mask slipped unnoticed from numb fingers.

“I ordered you to run.”

“No.”

“Tim--”

“NO!” he shouted, dropping to his knees beside the rubble.  He began desperately tossing pieces aside. “NO!  I’M NOT LEAVING YOU!”

“You’re not going to be able to move that slab.  There’s still a chance you can make it to the surface.”

“NO!  You wouldn’t leave me and I’m not leaving you.”  He began digging more frantically, tears splashing in the dust.

 _“Facility self-destruct in one minute.”_

“I CAN’T LET YOU DIE LIKE THIS!” Bruce roared.  “Go.  Find cover.”

The boy didn’t respond, his focus entirely on the massive stone trapping Bruce’s legs.

 _“Facility self-destruct in thirty seconds.”_

“Tim.”  One word, but the hopelessness, the agony was clear.  The boy locked eyes with his mentor, a well of emotions shared in one glance. 

He threw himself at the older man, hands sliding under the cape to wrap around an armored torso, seeking solace and absolution in his father’s embrace.  Bruce wrapped his own arms around his son, hugging him tightly, his face buried in Tim’s hair.

 _“Facility self-destruct in five…”_

“I’m sorry, Tim.”

 _“Four…”_

A sob escaped, despite Tim’s best efforts to bravely face the end.

 _“Three…”_

“I'm sorry too, Bruce.”

 _“Two…”_

Bruce tightened his hold on his son with one arm, the other wrapping the trembling figure tightly in his own cape in one last desperate attempt to protect him.

 _“One…”_

Tim could hear the explosion in one of the lower levels of the facility.  A deep rumble shook the ground, quickly gaining in intensity.  A wave of blistering heat swept over the huddled heroes and Tim knew that the fire was only seconds away. 

He was going to die.

And Bruce--the man who had chosen to take him in, to train him, and to love him like a son--was going to die with him. 

At that moment, Tim wished with all of his being that he and Bruce would make it through this.  That somehow, they’d make it home again, safe and sound in the cave.  Suddenly he felt as though he were being compressed—like his entire body was compacted into something the size of a golf ball and shoved through a steel pipe.  The sensation was too much for his already battered body and Tim blacked out.

A faint popping sound, like the uncorking of a champagne bottle, was barely audible over the roar of the onrushing flame. 

 

oOo

 

Upon awakening, the first thing that Tim noticed was the pain.  Every muscle in his body ached as though he’d gone a dozen rounds as Bane’s personal punching bag.  He wanted to stretch, work the soreness from his muscles, but he was completely devoid of energy. 

The second thing Tim noticed was the steady hum of machinery and the echoing cry of bats in the distance.  Bats generally meant the cave, but a tiny voice in his muddled mind was screaming at him, telling him that something was wrong—that he was missing something important.  There was a slight chill in the air, which smelled of earth tinged with a hint of metal and chemicals.

He forced his eyes to open and confirmed that he was indeed in the cave, tucked into one of the hospital beds in the medical area.  The little voice in his mind that was desperately trying to get his attention began to scream louder.

And then he remembered.  Bruce trapped, the woman’s voice counting down, the explosion, the heat of the fireball…  He should be dead.  And while it wouldn’t surprise him to discover that his own personal Heaven included the Batcave, he was almost certain that a dead person shouldn’t feel as awful as he did right now.  So how in the hell had he gotten out?

And more importantly, _where was Bruce?_

With a pained groan, Tim forced himself to sit up, shoving the blankets to the foot of the bed.  Alfred and Dick were quickly by his side and attempting to gently maneuver him into lying back down, but the boy would have none of that. "Bruce?" he called, worried eyes searching for his missing father. He found the man close by, propped up in another bed, casts on both of his legs and an Amazonian purple healing ray focused on his lower body. Realizing that he wouldn't be able to get through Dick, Tim shifted, quickly slipping past Alfred in a move that would have made the Flash proud. The second his feet hit the cool cave floor, Tim hurried to Bruce's side as fast as his weary body would allow. 

Clumsy hands grasped for Bruce’s shoulders, desperate to confirm what his eyes were telling him—that his father was alive.  That somehow they’d made it home. 

“Bruce?” Tim whispered.  The exhausted boy’s legs were as unsteady as a toddler taking his first steps as he struggled to remain upright.

“It’s okay, Tim”, Bruce said, wrapping a powerful arm around the shaking boy’s back and pulling him onto the bed.  Tim curled up on the mattress at Bruce’s side, his head by the older man’s hip, and struggled to keep his tears at bay.  Though he knew that both Dick and Alfred were watching from close by, all was quiet in the cave. 

Soon the healing ray began to work its magic, the soreness and tension slowly evaporating from Tim’s weakened form.  He lost track of time as he laid there, the healing ray, the distant cry of bats, and Bruce’s safe presence lulling him into a state of relaxation.  Sleep was nipping at his heels, but his desire for answers outweighed his need to rest.  He sat up and blinked tiredly at his surroundings, finding an empty chair at Bruce’s bedside.  With a yawn and a languorous cat’s stretch, Tim slid off the bed and into the waiting chair.  Dick quickly pulled him into a one-armed brotherly hug and Alfred was soon at his side, a bottle of water in hand.  Uncapping the bottle, Tim drank greedily, finishing half of it in a few swallows.

As he looked to Bruce to finally get some answers, he realized that there was a fifth person in the room.  When members of the Batclan were badly injured, it wasn’t uncommon for visitors to drop in.  Dr. Leslie Thompkins was a regular, as were both Oracle and Superman.  But the last person Tim expected to see sitting quietly at the other side of Bruce’s bed was Jason Blood.  The sorcerer was watching Tim, who at the moment was feeling rather like a specimen under a microscope. 

The man’s amused blue eyes noticed Tim’s surprise and he inclined his head in greeting.  Unsure of how to respond and not wanting to offend the mysterious and powerful Mr. Blood, Tim merely nodded back.  While curious about the sorcerer’s presence, he had far more important things on his mind at the moment.  He needed answers and he needed them now.

“Why aren’t we dead?”

A grimace twisted Bruce’s mouth as he started to reply, then hesitated.  The sight of Bruce at a loss for words made Tim uneasy and an awkward silence settled over the group.

Apparently, Blood had no qualms about answering.  “You apparated.” 

“I…what?”

“You apparated.  Apparition is like--”, he paused, running a hand through his red hair as he searched for the right words.  The gesture called attention to the white streak above his right temple and Tim idly wondered how the man had gotten it.  “Apparition is like magical teleportation.  Wizards use it to travel over limited distances.  You appeared here in the cave, from what I heard giving Alfred and Nightwing quite a fright.  Because you apparated from South Dakota all the way to Gotham, your magical core was stressed and you passed out.”

Tim merely sat, chin in hand, pondering Blood’s words.  “But how did I apparate?”  He pronounced the unfamiliar word carefully, as though speaking a foreign language.  “I’m not a wizard.”

Blood smiled.  “But you are Tim.  Otherwise you couldn’t have done it.”

Fear gripped Tim’s heart, stealing his breath and leaving him feeling like he’d just inhaled a double-dose of the Scarecrow’s gas.  He forced himself to breathe evenly—in, hold, and out, in, hold, and out.  Today was shaping up to be one for the record books.  Tim pulled his knees up to his chest, burying his face in his crossed arms.  He just wanted to go to sleep.  Maybe when he woke up tomorrow morning, he’d realize that this ridiculous disaster of a day was just a bad dream. 

A firm hand gripped his knee, pulling the boy out of his brooding.  Bruce squeezed his knee once more then leaned back against his pillows.  “It’s going to be okay Tim.  We _will_ figure something out.”

Tim scoffed.  He’d spent the first decade of his life foisted off on a housekeeper while his parents left him behind to travel the world.  Bruce had taken him in and given him a new home, but how long would that last after this newest revelation?  “How is it going to be okay?” Tim asked bitterly.  “You _hate_ magic.” 

Bruce sighed, which sounded strange coming from the usually stoic man.  “I don’t like magic because it’s been nothing but trouble for me and because I have few defenses against it.  That doesn’t mean that I don’t like magic _users_.  You should know that.  You’ve seen me work with both Jason and Zatanna.”

Tim nodded reluctantly.

“Tim, look at me.”  There was just enough of The Bat in his voice that Tim automatically complied, his full attention on his mentor.  “I won’t abandon you.  I’m going to help you through this.”  Bruce smiled, but it was the slightly wicked smile of the Batman—a smile that usually preceded a major beat down for some hapless criminal.  “Besides, imagine how powerful you’re going to be when you combine your training with magic.”

Apparently this was the right thing to say because Tim met Bruce’s devious smile with a smirk of his own.  “Alright, so maybe I am a wizard.  Why am I just finding out now?”

Jason smoothly stepped back into the conversation.  “That’s a good question.  Usually children begin showing signs of magic early, some as early as infancy, but I spoke with Bruce while you were unconscious and he said that you’ve always been a—well, a very structured child.  Highly logical, rarely prone to emotional outbursts.  I believe these qualities, combined with your training as Robin, allowed you to subconsciously control your magic.  Of course, there’s always a chance that you did have a few incidents of accidental magic, but perhaps you mentally brushed them off as something else.” 

“I think I’d notice if—“  Tim cut himself off, brow creasing in thought.  Come to think of it, there was the time that he’d been swinging over the city and his decel line snapped.  He’d fallen four stories, only to land on a pile of mattresses.  At the time he’d chalked it up to bizarre coincidence and extreme luck, but now he wasn’t so sure.  There were also a few bullets that somehow managed to miss their mark despite being fired at point blank range.

Jason chuckled, seeing the pensive look on Tim’s face.  “I thought as much.”

Tim tapped his bare foot rapidly on the cave floor, lost in the whirlwind of his own mind.  After a few moments, he squared his shoulders and looked Bruce directly in the eye, willing him to understand his seriousness.  “I’m going to need training.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am.”

Once again, Jason spoke. “There are schools of magic all over the world.  Normally children start at age eleven, but sometimes muggleborns, or children born of non-magical parents, slip through the cracks.  While older students entering wizarding schools are rare, it’s not unheard of.”

“Wait, why would I need to go to one of these schools?  I kind of assumed that you or Zatanna would be teaching me.”

“While we’re more than happy to help, there are many branches of magic.  We might be able to teach you the basics, but even we aren’t masters of them all.  Going to a wizarding school will give you access to the best instructors in every field.  And don’t worry about falling behind.  You’re a quick study.  With a bit of tutoring over the summer, you’ll do just fine.” 

While skeptical, Tim’s crimefighting career had taught him that sometimes you had to rely on the expertise of others.  He _hmmed_ thoughtfully, willing to listen to Jason’s advice with an open mind.

“The closest school is in Salem, Massachusetts, and while it has a good reputation, Bruce and I believe that it might be too close to Gotham for you to have any privacy,” Jason said.  “Between the press from being airlifted out of No Man’s Land and your recent adoption, I doubt you’ll be there a week before the fact that you’re Bruce Wayne’s son goes public.”

“So what are my options?” Tim asked, smothering a yawn.

Again Jason ran a hand through his red hair, blue eyes distant as he mentally shifted through his knowledge of the wizarding world.  “There are a few other schools in the US, in New Orleans, Key West, Texas, Montana, and Washington state.  However, if I might make a suggestion—“, Jason hesitated until Tim nodded for him to continue.  “One of the best wizarding schools in the world is located in Scotland, and they’ve recently contacted me about teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts next year.  If you’d like, I can put in a good word for you.  Maybe even arrange for you to commute back to Gotham on the weekends so that your duties as Robin aren’t neglected.”

The prospect of having a familiar face close by, especially one who was well aware of the many skeletons lurking in the Batclan’s proverbial closet, helped ease Tim’s frazzled nerves..  “That—that would be awesome.  Thank you Jason.”

“You’re welcome.  And might I say,” Jason smiled, and those exposed pearly whites caused Tim to shiver.  “I look forward to helping you catch up on your studies.  I have no doubt that you will be a most interesting student.”

 

oOo

 

One week later, Robin stood atop Wayne Tower, staring out over Gotham.  High winds buffeted the roof of the skyscraper and tugged fiercely at his cape, but his footing never faltered as he trained his binoculars on a far away building.  It had been a quiet night.  The thought of Alfred’s freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies and the warm bed waiting for him at home beckoned tantalizingly, their siren song making him seriously consider calling it an early night.

As he was tucking his binoculars back into their designated pouch, the flutter of wings drew his attention to a nearby gargoyle.  Perched upon the statue’s shoulder was a Great Horned Owl, its yellow eyes following Tim’s every move. 

“Can I help you?” he asked.  “If you’re one of the Penguin’s birds, you can just wing it right back to wherever you came from.    I’m taking the rest of the night off.”

The owl hooted, sounding almost like a laugh.  It held out its leg and Tim eyed the thick cream-colored envelope secured there with a slip of purple ribbon. With an amused huff, he gently untied the package from the bird’s leg.   “Magic is so weird.” 

The owl cooed amusedly again, though whether it was laughing _at_ himor _with_ him, the boy had no idea.  Then it took flight, soaring off the edge of the tower towards the eastern horizon.  Tim sat down on the ledge next to the gargoyle, legs swinging freely as he studied the green-lettered envelope. 

 

 _Mr. Timothy Drake_

 _West Wing of Wayne Manor, Second Floor, Fourth Bedroom on the Right_

 _1007 Mountain Drive_

 _Gotham City, United States_

 

Tim raised an incredulous eyebrow at the address, resolving to ask Jason whether this was a simple charm or a major security breach.  He carefully slid one gauntleted finger beneath the flap, breaking the wax seal.  He removed the expensive-looking parchment and carefully unfolded it, a small smile appearing on his masked face as he read.

 

 _Dear Mr. Drake,_

 _We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

**Author's Note:**

> I’m still not sure how this story, or maybe I should say this series, happened. About six months ago, I wrote a short one-shot about Tim Drake’s first Transfiguration class at Hogwarts. (It’ll make an appearance later, I promise.) It was meant to be a joke, built around one stupid little pun. Somehow, that story grew into a series. I now have three more complete fics, several almost complete, and at least five others in the works.
> 
> I haven’t decided how I’m going to present them yet—as different chapters of the same fic, or as separate individual fics. Most of the stories should be able to stand alone, but I’m not certain all of them will yet.
> 
> The next story, tentatively called “Expanding the Colony”, will cover Tim’s first experience with the wizarding world and his preparation for Hogwarts.
> 
> I’m also thinking about getting a beta, so any advice on how to find one would be greatly appreciated.
> 
> Finally, I borrowed the title “If This Be Magic” from William Shakespeare’s “A Winter’s Tale”. (Act five, scene three.)


End file.
